


Why So Blue

by Alabaster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, London, Rain, Sherstrade, Umbrella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alabaster/pseuds/Alabaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold, and Sherlock refuses to get under Greg's umbrella, much to Greg's frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why So Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the umbrella-scene in A Study In Pink ("You can share mine!") and, although I don't really know why, a lovely song called Why So Blue by Paul McCartney. Enjoy, and I'd love some comments! ;)

“Oh, this is ridiculous. Get under the bloody umbrella.“

“No.”

Greg exhaled a build up of stressed (caused by work and Sherlock) and annoyance (just Sherlock), biting back an undertow of expletives and insults that were lurking in his throat and threatening to spill out of his mouth. “You'll freeze to death,” Greg warned.

“I will do no such thing. Freezing to death would require approximately three hours with absolutely no heat and -”

“Christ, would you just shut up and get under the umbrella?” Greg requested, although it sounded more like a plea in Sherlock's ears: Greg's voice lacked the authority it originally retained and Greg sounded rather weakened. Most people would have just stood under the umbrella at this (actually, most people would already have stood under the umbrella in the first place), but not Sherlock.

London rain poured all over Sherlock's fragile frame, causing his damp shirt (white, so it was incredibly transparent with the water) to cling to his chest and dark curls to stick to his face, coatless body shivering with the temperature. It was a cruel sight to witness, so Greg continually made threats in an attempt to get Sherlock out of the weather, but with little (technically, zero) success. Greg raked a hand through his dark hair (actually, it was gradually greying these days - Greg blamed Sherlock but Sherlock blamed Greg's wife). The poor bastard was shivering his arse off all because he couldn't swallow his pride and accept Greg's help.

“Fine, then. Suit yourself.”

Greg's solution was enough to induce an expression of great perplexity that immediately altered Sherlock's facial features. His bow-shaped lips twitched, his brow forming a frown, which was his 'but how could it be the gardener when his cousin is Irish?' expression. Greg had closed the umbrella, exposing his body to the water that was bucketing down heavily, hitting the pavement, and now, Lestrade. That expression quickly reconfigured into a bright one of sudden realisation, as if something simple had been overlooked ('oh, of course, it doesn't matter because the cousin was in Florida on holiday').

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Sherlock asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because I assure you, it won't work.”

“Won't it?”

Sherlock doesn't budge. At first. But he looks over at Greg, who is soaked to the skin and making various shuddering and shivering sounds. “You're just acting childish now. Open the umbrella.”

“No.” The corner of Sherlock's mouth flicks into a slight smile and the switch of roles, but he quickly disguises it. “Lestrade, open the umbrella.”

Greg still refuses. “No.”

“Then I will.” Greg looks utterly surprised at Sherlock snatches the umbrella from his hand and opens it, holding it above their heads, rain bouncing off its surface and not a single droplet hitting either man as they move closer together. Greg does not say a single word but he is very happy.

Sherlock, on the other hand, looks annoyed, disappointed, perhaps slightly depressed.

“Why so blue, Sunshine?” Greg asked, a grin spread across his face.

“I hate it when you get your own way. It happens far more than should be necessary.”


End file.
